


This Is Our Last Goodbye

by dinglehorton



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinglehorton/pseuds/dinglehorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm worried about you."</p>
<p>"Don't be. No one else is," he says, and once he says it he feels terrible because now she will tell Pete, if she wasn't going to before. He doesn't want pity. He couldn't handle having everyone pity him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Our Last Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly I don't know much about Ashlee/Pete/their divorce/etc. This is why this is fanfiction, obviously.. I was going to continue after the last scene, but I really don't see myself doing that anymore.

They were bandmates. Hell, they were _brothers_ and they had been for longer than either of them could remember. Bandmates fight and brothers argue all of the time, but this particular fight, this particular one sends Pete running and Patrick taking the blame. Of course it's neither of their fault, but they both blame themselves anyways; they _could_ never blame each other for their own missteps and mistakes.

 

Patrick buries himself in writing and producing and Pete buries himself in Andy and Joe and raising Bronx. For a while Joe sends him photos of Bronx and all of their old friends, giving updates on virtually everyone they've ever met or come in contact with. It feels impersonal though, as if he's writing an open newsletter to all family and friends for posterity's sake and for a while Patrick wonders if Joe is mass sending this email to everyone and anyone that he knows.

 

But as time passes, as the sting of losing the band, of losing his friends grows deeper and deeper, the letters and emails and pictures just… _stop._ He gets most of his information from social media sites and crap journalism sources, and this is all he has left--wondering if his best friend (ex best friend?) is doing okay and trying to figure out what rumors are true and what stories are factual. He watches Pete's marriage fall apart on People magazine's covers, reads about the speculations and the "sources say", but he doesn't see it coming; the fact that Ashlee is the one to call things off doesn't surprise him though. Pete always had a way of putting things back together and in place, and Patrick had always hoped beyond hope that the same could be said for their friendship this time. Patrick saw her a few times, Los Angeles was a big city, but Hollywood wasn't. They made nice at parties, she would show him photos of Bronx and then boasted about Jessica's newfound love for motherhood, told Patrick all about how she loved being an aunt and a mother. He supposed that if anyone deserved happiness it was Jess.

 

Funny how the last person Patrick expected to show the slightest bit of concern curled her arm around his (he knew there would be photos of it on every tabloid in less than 30 minutes and a tiny part of him didn’t really care), and led him away from the most recent party they both had shown up at.

 

"Something's wrong," she says, not asking, so Patrick stays quiet. "I never really got the full story from Pe--I never asked to hear your side though."

 

"He's doing okay?" Patrick asks, ignoring her comments and sidestepping the conversation completely.

 

Ashlee nods softly, but sadly, "I think having Bronx more often than not helps. You want to know don't you? If he talks about you, if he asks about you."

 

_No._

 

"It doesn't really matter now does it, Ash? What could you two have to talk about besides Bronx, anyways?" He pauses for a moment, disentangling himself from Ashlee and sighing when she reaches out to touch his arm. "I should go."

 

"I'm worried about you."

 

"Don't be. No one else is," he says, and once he says it he feels terrible because now she will tell Pete, if she wasn't going to before. He doesn't want pity. He couldn't handle having everyone pity him.

 

He gets an email two days later, from Joe, asking him how he is doing and when he would be in town next. No mention about why he stopped calling or writing. No mention as to why they all seemed to disappear from his life as if those ten years together never meant a single thing. He knew his and Pete's argument had been bad, but he never understood why everyone jumped to the conclusion that it was his fault. So Patrick ignored the email, clicked the back button on his laptop and shelved responding for another day.

 

But when he didn't respond later that day he heard the familiar opening notes of Sugar, Joe's ringtone, blasting from his upstairs bedroom. He hadn't touched his phone in weeks, all prospects of gigs and jobs gone for the moment and everyone that he wanted to talk to was seemingly angry with him. So Patrick didn't really see the need for it.

 

By the time he made his way upstairs he could hear the familiar beep of a missed call and a new voicemail. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the play button as his brain contemplated deleting it before even listening to it, but instead he pressed the play button and turned on the speaker phone so he didn't have to hold the phone anymore. He dropped it on his bed as soon as he heard Joe's voice.

_"Hey. Uh… so I guess you ran into Ash? Did you know they were getting--what am I talking about everyone knows about that. She was really worried about you, but I told her she was nuts because Pat is the most upbeat guy I know. Hey, call me back okay? Or--I sent you an email. Either way."_

Patrick deleted the voicemail, turned off his phone, and tossed it underneath his bed. Out of sight out of mind. He didn't check it, didn't pick it up or turn it on for weeks after. He avoided going out and stopped going to parties; he loved seeing Ashlee despite everything because she brought new pictures of Bronx and the rest of the band, but he was falling faster and she would be the first person to see that. So he hibernated, wrote plenty of lyrics, some bad and some good, enough for two or three entire albums, drank too much coffee, and slept more than he ever had in his entire life despite the extra caffeine. He Googled "ways to die peacefully" and found that nothing was really guaranteed to be peaceful.

 

_How could that ever be peaceful?_ One blog questions, reminding people searching these terms that their life is more than worth it, but Patrick scoffs and pushes back the urge to email this person and say that death would be sweeter and more comfortable than life ever has been for him. But he doesn't. Instead he reads and re-reads Joe's email. It's been weeks since the phone call so he doesn't expect to wake up to someone pounding on his front door. He practically slides down the stairs, still tired from sleep, and catches himself before he falls and hurts himself.

 

"God damn it, Stump!"

 

Patrick is so stunned to hear Pete's voice that he falls back onto the bottom step and takes a deep, shaky breath.

 

"I know you. I know you're home, asshole, so just open the door before I get Joe to kick it down!"

 

"I--I'm not kicking--dude! Don't say shit like that," Joe's voice is muffled, but Patrick can still make out what he's saying.

 

"Open this fucking door, Stump."

 

Patrick doesn't. Instead, he sits there on the bottom step and stares blankly at his door, suddenly grateful that he changed the locks weeks ago.

 

_Why did you leave me?_

_What were we even fighting about?_

_Why didn't you come back?_

_Why did you have to take everyone with you? Why did you take all of my friends?_

He wants to open the front door and say all of this, but instead he climbs the stairs quietly and goes back to bed.

 

 

 

 

Two days later Pete goes on the radio to talk about reunion tours and new albums and how much he loves hanging out with his son. Patrick has listened to everything Pete has done in the last few years, and listens like he's hearing these stories and conversations first hand. Exactly like they used to do when they were younger.

 

"I think it would be nice to get out there and tour again. Maybe write some lyrics and make a new album," he hears Pete commenting to the radio DJ's question of a Fall Out Boy reunion. Patrick waits with baited breath. "But y'know, we'd have to get in touch with Patrick. He's been a little MIA on social media and with answering his phones. We've reached out, but--"

 

He stops listening to the interview, closing the window and opening his Twitter account. There are dozens of mentions from fans curious and worried about where he's been, and then there are the DMs from his friends, some who had unfollowed him after the fight with Pete, but had seemingly refollowed him again. He felt a wave of guilt and nausea wash over him, but it doesn’t last when he sees Pete's last tweet.

 

**_Worried. Missin' you._ **

****

It isn’t directed at him, it makes no mention of him, but it was something they had said to each other when they would spend weeks apart after tours had ended. He slammed his laptop shut with a grunt and stalked off to his medicine cabinet in his bathroom. He pulls out all of his prescription bottles, some he had gotten from his doctor, others he got over the counter at the drug store. He downs the majority of the bottle of sleeping pills and a few bottles of painkillers. When his eyes start feeling droopy he thinks now is the perfect time to say some goodbyes. He calls Joe, hoping to get his voicemail so he won’t have to talk to him, but Joe picks it up almost immediately.

 

"Patrick?"

 

"S-S’rry," Patrick slurs. "S’rry J."

 

"Patrick? What's--have you been drinking?" Joe asks and he swears he can hear Pete talking in the background, trying to get Joe's attention. "Here. Here, Pat, talk to Pete okay? I'll--you just talk to Pete."

 

"Pat?" Pete asks softly.

 

"You--" Patrick snorts. "You were my next call, Petey."

 

There's a pause and through his daze Patrick can hear the sentence click in Pete's head. He hears Pete calling out to Joe, frantic and terrified.

 

"D-don't be sc'red, Petey."

 

"Trick, what did you take? Where are you? Are you at home? Patrick!"

 

"Sleepy, Petey," Patrick snorts again. "Hah! Sleepy Petey!"

 

Pete huffs or laughs, Patrick can't tell, but he sounds sad when he says, "We're almost there, Trick, okay? Please keep talking to me."

 

"Don't be mad," Patrick says softly, tears welling up in his eyes and blurring his vision. "Please, please Pete, please don't make people be mad at me when I'm gone."

 

He can hear Pete sobbing now, shuddering into the phone when he exhales and even more shaky when he inhales. "Jesus, Stump, jesus. What did you _do_?"

 

"L've you, Petey," Patrick says, and before Pete can say anything in return the line goes dead.


End file.
